Theories of kindness
by yellowing
Summary: After Draco's father is incarcerated into Azkaban, he begins to have serious concerns about his future. He needs to figure out who he is, and ultimatly, who to fight for.


Disclaimer: the characters (although not written according to their proper natures) history and setting of this story is owned by J.K. Rowling and her associates. I can only pretend.

A/N This is my first story. I admit to being a little confused by the process, but I'm sure I'll get better. Please correct any information which seems wrong. Please review; I need to be reminded that there are real people out there, traveling the cold wires with me.

Thank you,

Yellowing.

Chapter one: Revelations

Draco Malfoy stood in the snow, his cape wrapped around him tightly. Across the lake Hogwarts

shone, hundreds of lighted windows reflected in the water. Snowflakes fluttered to the ground, spinning about him lazily as they fell.

It was, he thought dispassionately, very beautiful. But he had never been taught to appreciate beauty; it was something to covet and possess, if possible, to ignore and disdain if unreachable. Never had anyone shown him how to feel it. How to love something because it was beautiful; how to love it and not want it. How something can make you happy without owning it at all.

He shuddered again, but not from the cold. What was wrong with him? Ever since his father had been put in Azkaban he had felt, well, weird. He had become uncomfortable with the commonest things. With hanging out with his friends. With the look the other students gave him, some admiring and respectful, some scorning and hateful, some full of fear. Before he had taken them as his do- but now they worried him. And he began to think about how he deserved the hateful glances more than the admirable ones- and those thoughts worried him more.

He kicked half-heartedly at the snow. What the fuck was wrong with him? It was like ever since his father was taken away he had become a wuss. Like he needed his father to be always looking over his shoulder ready to punish every flaw. Like he had only been the way he was to please his father and now that he had been taken away he could be himself.

"No" he said out loud, the noise surprising him. His father had supported him, helped him to be who he really was. Helped him to be strong. How could he be anything but that person? How could he be anything but that cruel, cunning, ruthless person his father had taught him to be?

And look what happened. What had happened? He had lost his virginity. She was a slut. Who else would act like that? Like it wasn't important at all.

It wasn't- important. It was like masturbating. It was like fucking a robot. It didn't mean anything. He didn't feel anything. And that was what was bothering him. He had expected sex to be, well, passionate, and it was the opposite. He didn't feel any pleasure, just the slight tingling of shame. Why was he ashamed? He hadn't, this once, done anything to be ashamed about. It had been consensual- in fact she had made the first move. Everyone else seemed to do it, and enjoy it and feel no shame about it at all.

Damn. He could make a first year cry and not feel anything at all, but the first time he had sex he felt like his soul was stained somehow. It didn't make any sense.

The wind picked up and the snow stung his face, but he didn't move. He wondered if it was always so easy for beauty to change into pain.

He had been standing there for a very long time, thinking and not thinking, when he heard voices, laughter, moving across the ground. He stood stone still, camouflaged in a black cape made white by the snow. There was nothing to be seen in the direction of the voices but a strange

interruption in the fall of the snow. The people- and who they were was directly obvious to Draco- were apparently invisible. An invisibility cloak maybe? Or some spell Granger had dug up from obscure depths? He listened to their chatter, laughter, and wonder how they could be so

happy? Every moment their world could collapse upon them; Harry was surely doomed to die a torturous death at Voldemort's hands. Draco was constantly surprised that it hadn't happened yet. Voldemort was surely the most terrible thing in existence. The idea of even seeing him shook Draco to the bones. And his father had been in his service which Draco would, undoubtedly, be in, as well, some day.

Someday, hopefully in the far distant future. Someday he had no idea how to prevent from happening. Someday he did not think about, except in his nightmares.

The trio came closer and closer to him. Suddenly Ron ducked out form underneath the cloak to scoop up a lump of snow and pelt it at the other, still invisible, two.

"Ron" Hermione called, uncovering herself as well"We're supposed to be unseen, remember"

"C'mon 'Mione" He protested"You can hardly see the castle from here, the snow is so thick, and no one's likely to be wondering around at this time of night."

"I guess you're right." She conceded. The snow fall had, indeed, thickened until the castle was all but invisible. Harry unwrapped himself, and bundled the cloak under his arm.

"Let's hurry up, I really want some hot butterbeer. I wonder what Hagrid has to tell us." They tromped off in the direction of Hagrid's cabin.

Draco watched them go impassively. He searched himself for feeling about them. He wanted to disdain them. He wanted to think happily about Harry's inevitable demise at Voldemort's hands. He wanted to sneer at Hagrid's cabin, it's bright light gleaming through the snow storm.

But all he felt was jealousy. He wanted some place warm to go, someone to heat up butterbeer just for him, to smile at him, throw snowballs at him, lecture him for being careless.

He tried to tell himself that he didn't need or want these things. He tried to keep his heart as cold as the sneer permanently installed on his face. He tried to keep all the little things he didn't like about himself, like compassion, like the little voice which begged for love,

wrapped up tight. But now those things were leaking out, weakening him, confusing him, making it impossible to stay himself.

Or impossible to avoid becoming the person he was meant to be.


End file.
